


A Convenient Date

by iwasbotwp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22019518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasbotwp/pseuds/iwasbotwp
Summary: Following his divorce from Ginny, Harry doesn't want to attend the Ministry's annual New Year's Eve Ball alone. When he asks an also-single Hermione to attend, she knows he means it as just friends, but wishes it was a real date.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 50
Kudos: 256





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlexandraO](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandraO/gifts).



> Written as a holiday gift for one of my dearest fandom friends, AlexandraO. I hope you enjoy! Beta work courtesy of the Sam to my Frodo, HeartOfAspen.

Harry stood in Hermione's office doorway, scuffing the toe of his boot. Even before he cleared his throat, Hermione put down her quill with a sigh, knowing this was leading to him asking her for a favour.

She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "What's it this time, Harry?" 

Sweeping a hand through his perpetually messy hair, Harry stared at her for a moment, then moved forward to take a seat. Both of her guest chairs were covered with stacks of books. He glanced around, trying to decide what to do.

Hermione sighed again; she really didn't have time for whatever this was. The Wizengamot was breathing down her neck to turn in a series of cases before the end of the year. Picking up her wand, she levitated the stack atop the slightly more comfortable seat to the floor behind her desk.

"Thanks," he said, cheeks turning a little pink as he sat. Once settled, he smiled at her, the type that lit up his whole face, yet still managed to be slightly roguish and made her tummy flutter in a wholly inappropriate way.

"Don't you try to charm me, Harry James Potter," she admonished him, her arms still crossed. "I am far too busy for whatever you're going to ask of me."

He chuckled and spread his arms, pretending to be sorry, but she knew better. "You know me too well, I guess. I _am_ here to ask you something, but it isn't anything to do with work. Or rather, it isn't strictly to do with work."

He stopped and looked down. Confused on why he seemed anxious again, Hermione waited, watching him fidget with a button on his robes. Just as she was going to give in and prod him, he looked back up.

"Would you want to go together to the New Year's Eve Ball? I know you already RSVPed for yourself. And so did I. But, I'm—"

"Nervous about walking in alone for the first time in over a decade?"

Nodding, Harry looked relieved she had immediately understood. "Yeah. How did you do it last year? I thought you were so incredibly brave at the time, but now, I'm in even more awe." Quietly, he admitted, "I don't think I can do it."

The open door behind Harry suddenly seemed a poor choice, and Hermione picked up her wand again to perform the spells necessary to close it and protect them from eavesdroppers. This wasn't a conversation she had ever imagined having with Harry. Then again, she hadn't ever imagined herself divorced from Ron. Or Ginny leaving Harry for Luna Lovegood. So, here they were.

"You certainly _can_ do it, Harry!" she began, feeling indignant on his behalf. Ginny leaving him for another witch, when she hadn't ever indicated a smidgeon of desire for women, had left him less sure of himself in social situations. "At age seventeen you walked into the Forbidden Forest alone to face a group of Death Eaters and Voldemort. You are more than capable of walking into a Ministry holiday function alone and facing a bunch of your coworkers and bureaucrats."

He rolled his eyes at her, then laughed. "When you put it that way."

"Okay, so maybe comparing the two doesn't quite work," she admitted, shrugging.

"Althoughhhh," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, "you did volunteer to go with me into the forest, but you haven't yet said if you'll attend the ball by my side."

Now she was the one feeling nervous. This was obviously not meant to be a date, just an ‘as friends’ sort of thing, since they were both single. Which was a bad idea, because lately she had been seeing Harry as more than a friend. She really should say no, but what excuse could she give him?

Over the past seventeen months, she had gone on a number of dates. She had even seen Theodore Nott a handful of times before she realized he was looking for a more serious relationship than she was ready for. However, the last time someone had asked her out—Oliver Wood, last month—she had turned him down. And speaking of dates…

"Are you sure about this? You haven't even been on a date with anyone else yet. The press will eat this up."

Harry shrugged, the bit of confidence he'd been exhibiting while teasing her quickly evaporating. "I'm sure they’ll be all over me no matter what choice I make."

Hermione's heart fell, because that was certainly true. Harry might remember her bravery from attending last year's New Year’s Eve Ball by herself—and also the Memorial Ball last May where she'd gone alone, too. But he hadn't known that the only way she had made it through both was with a Calming Draught. That was her little secret.

"Last year, Rita followed you around all night, waiting for you to slip up, do something she could use in a story. It was bloody awful." 

"It would have been worse if it hadn't been for you and—" Chagrined, she pressed her lips together so tightly they stung. Though she had not said Ginny's name, they both heard it hanging out there.

After seven months apart, the wound from the split seemed to be beginning to heal. For a moment his eyes hardened, and she was tempted to get up and give him a hug. Quicker than she could decide what to do, he shook it off. 

"Well, it's time to pay me back. Please come with me to the ball and stand next to me all night long, protecting me.” He pouted and batted his eyes at her, looking utterly ridiculous. “ _I need you, Hermione.”_

Shaking her head, she tried not to laugh, which meant she ended up snorting. She waved her hand at his antics. "Fine, Harry, you've won. We can go together. Shall we meet at mine or yours?"

"Molly will have my kids for the night. Yours too?"

She nodded. Molly and Arthur had made a tradition of watching all their grandchildren for New Year’s Eve.

"Let's meet at mine," he said. "I'll need a good drink before facing the masses. I'd rather not drink it alone… and you only ever have cheap alcohol in your flat."

She scoffed, acting affronted, although sadly it was the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

_I need you, Hermione._

She hadn't been able to get those stupid words out her head for weeks now, ever since Harry had said them in her office. If only he had meant it the way she wished.

Hermione found herself daydreaming at the most inappropriate times about ways he could have said those words instead. 

She replayed them while working in her office, imagining herself bent over her desk, skirt hiked up. Behind her, Harry stood tightly against her, his excitement evident. He murmured, _I need you, Hermione,_ in her ear as his hands skimmed up her thighs towards her knickers.

During an inter-departmental meeting, in the middle of a particularly grueling debate, she pictured him sternly demanding, _I_ _need you, Hermione, to stay after to discuss a finer point with me_. Once the door was shut he had opened his robes to display a prominent bulge in his trousers. _Put your mouth to a different use to convince me you're right,_ he had said. When the _actual_ meeting was over that day, she had left with ruined knickers. 

Then possibly the worst was during a Wizengamot session while he was testifying on behalf of the prosecution. The power he exuded when walking into the chamber had been palpable, and she had inadvertently gasped. Whether he felt something or somehow heard her quiet exhale, she couldn't tell. But his eyes had sought her out and he had winked at her. After that, she barely remembered what he said. Instead she pictured his hands tied to her headboard, pretending to be at her mercy (as if silken ribbons could actually restrain the Head Auror), begging her to let him touch her as she used him for her pleasure. He had been fully naked in that daydream, and she wondered how close to the real thing she was imagining him to be. 

This was getting out of hand. Luckily her vibrator ran on a spell, rather than batteries, otherwise she would have been going through them very quickly.

Earlier this morning, she had dropped off Rose and Hugo at The Burrow. Harry's kids weren't there yet, but Molly told them they were expected shortly. Thankfully, she had not had to see Ron, as he was out of the country. Already feeling anxious, running into her ex-husband before going on a pseudo-date with Harry would have been disastrous. 

As far as she knew, no one knew they were attending together. She definitely had not told anyone, and she could not imagine that Harry had either. Otherwise, by now, the gossips would have been in a frenzy.

While showering, she ran her next steps for the day through her head. Her dress was hanging in her closet, the shoes to go with it sitting directly below. The jewelry she had chosen sat on her chest, next to a sparkly clutch she had bought on a whim just last week. The dress called for an updo, which she had practiced over the prior weekend, to prepare. Her makeup would be simple, just mascara and red lipstick. 

She would need to have something light to eat at tea time, even if her stomach was in knots. Otherwise the drink at Harry's house would go straight to her head.

Finally, she stood before her mirror, giving herself a final look-over. The neckline of her sleeveless, champagne-colored dress plunged lower than she would normally wear, but she had always felt her breasts to be her best asset. The skirt was full and fell to her ankles, letting her black high heels show. Her hair looked perfect, a special spell applied to keep it that way all night.

She had even managed to eat half a ham sandwich before putting on her lipstick. It was not much, but it would have to do until she could see what hors d'oeuvres trays were being passed around this year. 

"You can do this," she told her reflection. "Harry is your best friend. Tonight will be fun. You'll just drink a couple of drinks, mingle with a few people, make fun of old Perkins the same as you do every year, dance once or twice together, then hug at midnight." She paused to pick up her clutch, then amended, "Maybe a peck on the cheek. That'd be acceptable."

Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, she saw that although it was a little before the time she told Harry to expect her, it was within ten minutes. No reason to stay here and work herself up. Pulling out her wand from its place in her clutch, she Apparated to Harry's front door.

* * *

Harry opened the door wearing perfectly tailored midnight-black trousers, a crisp white button-down, and a neatly tied bowtie. Shiny cufflinks winked at her as he stepped aside to let her enter. She didn't miss the way his eyes trailed down her body and lingered just a tad too long on her chest.

 _He's a man, it's just normal behavior,_ she told herself firmly. _Don't read too much into it._

"You look gorgeous, Hermione."

_Dammit! He's just being polite!_

"You clean up pretty well yourself, Harry."

Harry smirked at her. "It's all new. Wasn't going to wear anything from _before._ My robes are in the library, along with the Firewhisky. Come on."

Soon enough they stood laughing, drinks in hand, as they tried to guess what Perkins would be wearing this year. Hermione's nervousness evaporated as she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

"Stop it, Harry! You're going to make me ruin my makeup!" She lightly swatted his arm. "There is no way he is going to come in red leather pants and a matching coat like Edie Murphy from that show."

"Well, would you have ever guessed he'd show up in a codpiece?"

She nearly choked on her drink, remembering that unfortunate sight.

"My money's on him coming in something musty and lacy that looks similar to what Ron wore in fourth year," Harry said.

"Ugh, that was a truly unfortunate set of robes, wasn't it?" Hermione mused, shaking her head. 

Chuckling, Harry nodded, then took another sip.

Suddenly, it hit Hermione. They were laughing about Ron, and it didn't feel awkward or painful. It felt… normal. Harry must have realized it, too, since he was eyeing her carefully.

"Alright there?"

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I think I am. You?"

He grimaced, looked towards his fireplace, and shrugged. Collecting his thoughts, he rattled the ice in his glass. "It's different for you. What with Ron living in Paris for over a year now. There's no chance of you seeing him with Gabrielle just strolling down Diagon Alley, holding hands."

"No, you're right. We saw each other on Christmas, of course. But before that it had been Hugo's birthday when I last saw him. I'm sorry, Harry. I hadn't realized you'd run into Ginny."

"More than once," he grunted, finishing off his drink. He eyed her half-full glass. "Mind if I have one more before we go?"

"Only if we change the subject. You can tell me about Ginny and Luna holding hands another day. We need to strategize for Rita and whatever skeezy photographer she brings with her."


	3. Chapter 3

By the time they stepped into the decadently decorated Ministry ballroom, they had at least a basic idea formed. Mainly it consisted of telling everyone that they were there as best friends and to sod off. Well, Harry planned to tell people that. Hermione thought less was more in this case.

Unfortunately, the first couple they came upon who wanted to chat were Draco and Pansy Malfoy. Pansy was just as horrid as she had been at school—a vapid snob who only ever acknowledged Harry because her husband forced her to when they were at events such as this. The pug-faced bitch pretended not to notice Hermione at all.

Draco had mellowed in his views over the years and no longer adhered to blood supremacy, as far as she could tell. Rather, he still chased power, in any form. He was also a serial womanizer who took mistresses liberally, and had even courted Hermione for that role after she had broken things off with Theodore. Apparently, his friend had passed on the information that she didn't want anything serious, and to Draco that meant she was willing to be the other woman. No, thank you.

"Potter," Draco said, reaching out a hand to shake. Harry accepted it and Hermione took the moment to contrast the two men. 

Objectively, Malfoy was handsome. He was tall, thin, and in excellent physical shape, accentuated by his expensive robes. Rather than a bowtie, he wore a necktie with a diamond studded tie-tack that matched his cufflinks. The entire outfit was perfectly put together. Still, even with his changed attitude, there was a hardness to him that turned Hermione off. Everything the man did was calculated, and nothing seemed to bring him real happiness. She suspected he was incapable of true feelings, beyond desire.

Harry, on the other hand, had a more rugged air about him. It wasn't just the eternally mussed hair, but also the beard he had allowed to grow in recent years, that she found so sexy. While Auror training meant Harry was now able to lie seamlessly and hide his feelings along with the best of them, he had never put on that mask with her. He trusted her with the real him. And most importantly, he respected her and loved her, even if that love was the brotherly type.

Turning to her, Draco raked her with his eyes, letting her know exactly how good he thought she looked tonight. When his eyes met hers again, he practically purred, “Hermione.”

Coolly, she returned his greeting, “Malfoy.”

Unable to decide if she should offer her hand to him, Harry saved her from the awkwardness when he slid an arm around her waist and tugged her possessively into his side. She glanced up at him to see his jaw clenched, although he still wore a polite smile. Looking back to Malfoy, she caught a glint in his eyes. Whether it was from surprise or excitement at what he was witnessing, was difficult to decipher.

“Are you here _together_ ?” he asked, licking his lips, his eyes darting back and forth between their faces. _Oh, definitely excitement then,_ Hermione decided. Knowledge was power, after all.

“We came together,” Harry acknowledged.

Pansy suddenly snorted, reminding Hermione of her presence. It seemed Harry, and even Draco, had forgotten her too, as they all three looked to her in surprise.

“You have something to say on this, _love_?” Draco emphasized the pet name contemptuously. 

Pansy’s eyes were cold when they turned on Hermione, finally deigning to recognize her presence. Fleetingly, Hermione wondered if Pansy knew of her husband’s proposition. It wouldn’t surprise her. “It’s obviously a sham,” she declared. “Potter is looking to show he’s over his wife turning lesbian because of him, and Granger couldn’t very well turn up alone at another event. Even she has the common sense to see how pitiful that would be. This is just a date of convenience for them.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open. A pain shot through her hip where Harry’s fingers dug into it as he worked to hold back his anger, although she did not see any other signs of distress on his face.

Gauging Hermione’s reaction, and possibly reading into Harry’s stoic stance, Draco raised a brow. Looking down at his wife, he drawled, “Perhaps now would be a good time for you to find our seats.”

Pansy turned a narrow-eyed gaze onto her husband. Something unsaid passed between them, then Pansy turned on her heel, stalked off to the nearest floating tray of champagne, and grabbed two glasses. She drank an entire one without stopping for a breath, slammed it down on a nearby table, then continued on her way without a backward glance.

The floating tray came near their area and Draco snagged three glasses, offering one to each of them. Harry released the hold he had kept on her hip and slipped his arm free. Feeling the loss of his warmth keenly, Hermione covered her discomfort as she accepted the champagne with a smile.

Draco raised his glass to them with a mocking grin. “Cheers,” he told them, "to whatever this is.”

“It’s none of your business, that’s what it is,” Hermione replied.

At the same time, Harry muttered, “Sod off, Malfoy.”

That elicited a real laugh from Draco before he followed his wife’s lead and downed the bubbly beverage in a single go.

Gazing around, Draco leaned in close to the duo and whispered conspiratorily, “All I’m going to say is, I wish my wife would turn lesbian and leave me. Doubt I’ll ever get that lucky.”

With that, he walked away, still chuckling. 

“What the hell just happened?” Harry asked quietly out of the corner of his mouth.

Hermione shook her head. “I have no fucking clue.”

Both of them took a sip from their drinks, watching Malfoy make his way across the room to the Head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. The witch’s simpering could be seen across the room when she realized Draco Malfoy had signaled her out.

“Right then,” Hermione said, drawing Harry’s attention back to her. “Do you think we’ve got a problem, with what Pansy said about us?”

"I don't doubt she is spreading malicious rumors as we stand here."

Hermione felt exposed in their current spot. "Let's go look at the silent auction."

Barely halfway through the display of items up for bid, Rita Skeeter found them, a photographer close on her lime-green stiletto heels. 

"So it's true then. You're here together," Rita began immediately as the photographer danced around them, flashes going off in quick succession. "When did this new _Golden Couple_ come to be?"

Hermione scowled at Rita, and the asinine moniker, then tried to dodge around her without replying. 

"Running away because you feel too guilty to tell the truth? Have you been having an illicit affair for years and just now decided it was safe to go public? Hoping no one would suspect?"

"We are just here together tonight, Rita," Harry interjected tersely, drawing the attention back to him.

"Harry Potter confirms he is dating Hermione Granger," Rita dictated to her pen.

"Sod off, Rita,” Harry told her, still keeping relatively calm.

“Harry proceeded to defend his girlfriend’s dubious good standing.”

“She isn’t my girlfriend.”

Rita turned a crafty eye to Hermione, who had crept back towards Harry’s side, unwilling to leave him behind. “Friends with benefits, is it? He only calls on you after a tough case to let off some steam, but isn’t willing to commit? How long have you allowed him to use you like this?”

That last bit was what broke Hermione. “You horrid little dung beetle. Rolling around in any excrement you can find, or in this case, create when you can’t find it. Harry Potter is a good man and would never—”

A flash went off right in her eyes, momentarily blinding her. It did nothing to calm her seething rage; she could only imagine the look on her face while ranting at Rita. But, it did have the effect of helping her collect herself.

“We’re just here together as friends, and we have no further comment.” She grabbed Harry’s hand and enjoyed the way he smirked at her. It made something clench low in her core. Before Rita could counter her, she announced “Come on, Harry, I see Genevieve and need to remind her of our meeting in two days.”

Genevieve Williamson was Head of Magical Registries. One of the many registries she oversaw was for Animagi. Rita may have registered her ability many years ago now, but Hermione had discovered she was still wary of being around anyone who could delve too deeply into the years before she had.

Once they were a few steps away, Harry asked, “Do you really see Genevieve? Because I don’t.”

“Of course not,” she answered, still moving away from Rita and pulling Harry with her.

“Do you even have a meeting scheduled with her in two days?”

“I do.”

Stopping abruptly, Harry spun her to face him. There were quite a few people now, as the party got into full swing, but no one paid them any heed. He stared down at her intently and she felt her heart begin to race. “You really are brilliant, Hermione.” One hand still intertwined with hers, he stepped closer.

“Harry,” she whispered warningly, not sure what he was doing.

A contemplative look crossed his face. He reached up his free hand and lightly traced his fingertips along her bare arm, raising gooseflesh in their path.

His eyes flickered down to her lips briefly. “I’ve always been impressed by your ability to get _passionate_ over things you believe in.”

Hermione’s breathing was shallow and she wondered if Harry could feel the sweat gathering in her palm.

A loud tinkling sound rang through the room, breaking the spell. Harry stepped back abruptly, his face slipping into a generic, interested smile as he turned to face the little dais near the dance floor. Hermione attempted to do the same, as the chairperson of the committee who put on this event each year had stopped rapping her wand against her half-full champagne glass.

“Now that I have your attention,” the witch began, her voice magically carrying, “I’d like to say just a few words before we truly begin this evening.”

The speech droned on for a few minutes, but Hermione didn’t follow any of it. All she could think about was what Harry had just said, and the possibility he could just maybe be feeling something toward her. Is that the real reason he had asked her to be his date tonight? It would explain his nervousness in her office that day.

The speech ended without Hermione realizing it and she belatedly joined in the polite applause. Stealing a glance at Harry, she found him looking at her. He smiled.

In an attempt to be brave, Hermione took in a shuddering breath and started to ask him— 

“Harry, m’boy! How are you?”

It was Horace Slughorn, of all people. The man was no longer a Hogwarts Professor, but instead sat on the Board of Governors. Year after year, he managed to finagle an invite to this party. His eyes moved to Hermione. “And look who’s with you,” he continued jovially, his cheeks and nose suspiciously pink for so early in the evening. “Hermione Granger, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Professor Slughorn, so nice to see you,” Harry greeted their old teacher.

“Please, please, how many times do I have to remind you that I prefer Horace?”

“Hello, Horace,” Hermione said, offering her hand, which he took in his meaty one and shook with vigor. She smiled her public smile for him, the one that was friendly, but didn’t invite a long conversation. Lately, she had been using it more and more.

“I heard you were here together and thought it was a great opportunity to talk to both of you at once about a proposal I have for a change to the Hogwarts curriculum.” His ideas over the past few years had actually proven quite good. “I have an idea for Defence class.”

“Horace,” Harry broke in. The use of his first name had the effect of the older wizard puffing up, rather than put out by being cut off. “Can we schedule a meeting for next week? Hermione and I can check our calendars when we’re back in our offices.”

Nodding happily, Horace tapped finger to the side of his nose and gave them a wink. “You kids have fun tonight!”

Harry shook his head and Hermione rolled her eyes. “No matter what you’ve heard Horace, you shouldn’t believe the rumors. We’re just here tonight as friends,” Harry told him.

Horace didn’t look like he believed them. “Of course you are!” 

“I’ll owl you on Monday.” Hermione told him with finality. Thankfully, he took the hint and walked away.

Hors d'oeuvres were now being passed and Hermione gratefully grabbed a few, glad to have something to do with her hands and mouth. All of her prior courage had fled, leaving an awkwardness behind.

“So,” Harry said, after a couple of minutes of silently scanning the crowd, “is there anyone you really wanted to talk to tonight?”

“That I don’t see on a regular basis in the Ministry? No.”

“Want another glass of champagne?”

“Yes, please,” she answered, appreciative of the drinks he snagged just a few steps from where they stood.

A few more people moved in and out of their orbit over the next half hour, stopping to chat, but none lingered longer than offering pleasantries, and no one else brought up her and Harry being there together. It was a pleasant reprieve.

Many people were gravitating towards the seating area. Dinner would be served soon. “Shall we find our spots?”

Belatedly, something occurred to Hermione. She raised her fingers to her lips and her eyes grew wide. “Oh Merlin! We sent in our responses separately. What if they don’t seat us together?”

“I changed mine after you said yes.” Harry looked smug to have thought of that detail. _As well he should_ , she decided.

“Excellent.”

Dinner proceeded easily, with small talk flowing among their table-mates. In the back of her mind, Hermione continued to pick apart Harry’s actions earlier, but overall, she was having a lovely time talking with Roger Davies, who sat on her right, about some complexities taking place within the Muggle world of astro-physics and how it was revolutionizing Wizarding Astronomy. 

Harry was trading stories with Tulip Karasu, who sat on his left. Hermione caught snippets here and there, and made a note to follow up on what Harry had learned about the Cursed Vaults later. The only people she had talked to about them before were Bill and Charlie. She would love to find out more first-hand knowledge.

Soon enough, the tables were being cleared of dessert, the orchestra was tuning up, and Hermione’s nerves were back in overdrive. They would have to dance at least once, for appearances, and then there wouldn’t be other people to act as a buffer.

Harry stood up and pulled her chair out for her. “Want to get another drink from the bar?” 

Since her Firewhisky at Harry’s, she had drunk two glasses of champagne before dinner and a glass of wine during the meal. Another drink didn’t seem smart. “Just water for me.”

Harry observed the crowd queueing up at the bar, looked back to Hermione, then shrugged. “Maybe you’re right.”

She hoped he didn’t catch her relief. During dinner he had drank two glasses of wine, widening the gap between their totals by two drinks. She did not want him to keep on going if she stopped.

“We’ll still have to have one more glass of champagne to toast the new year at midnight, you know.”

Acquiescing to his compromise, Hermione nodded in agreement just as the music began in earnest.

“Shall we dance?”

“Perhaps a trip to the loo first?” Hermione _wasn’t_ stalling, she told herself. She really did need to use the the loo. It wouldn’t hurt to check her lipstick.

Standing in the short line to the ladies’, Hermione groaned when Marietta Edgecombe appeared in behind her. The light scarring left from Hermione’s jinx during school was barely visible at close range. It no longer looked like the word “sneak”. None of that mattered to Marietta, she had never forgiven Hermione for tricking her.

“I see you’ve moved in on Harry,” the other witch said in a loud, snide voice, attracting the attention of the other women waiting in line. “Always knew you were hungry for power. Even when we were kids. Now, you can’t be satisfied with what you’ve managed to get through secret meetings and the extra knowledge you’re privy to in your role, are you? Had to solidify your hold by using Harry.”

There were a couple of gasps, but no one said anything. The queue was deathly quiet and when a flushing toilet sounded, one witch jumped. No one even bothered to pretend they weren’t listening.

Hermione rounded on the horrid woman, hands on her hips and a fire in her veins, uncaring of the audience. “First off, I’ve earned my position through long hours of hard work, an eye for details, and perfect execution of my projects. My meetings are run through my assistant and not held _in_ _secret_. You once tried to mount a petty smear campaign against me and Harry when were were teenagers. Here you are again, with your tired, cynical ideas on how the world must work, because it’s the way _you_ think and work. Harry has been my friend for twenty years. If I wanted to cash in on his influence, I would have done it long ago, before my star rose on its own. Secondly, we’re here tonight merely as friends.”

Finishing her piece, she turned forward and hoped Marietta would leave her be, and that the line would move quickly. Hermoine opened her clutch and stared at her wand, wondering if she would need it. Three toilet flushes sounded simultaneously and Hermione rolled her eyes at the obviousness of why.

“You bitch,” she heard whispered behind her, accompanied by a rustle, both of which were nearly covered up by the clanging of stall doors opening and another toilet flushing. 

Hermione had a silent _Protego_ cast before Marietta’s whispered spell hit her back. The spell rebounded off of Hermione’s shield, luckily only hitting a potted plant. A scream sounded and everyone around them ducked. Hermione rounded on the other witch to find her looking shocked and scared. Security was running towards them, and she was pretty sure Harry was close behind them, but all she could really see was the way a drop of sweat trickled down Marietta’s neck, not far from where the point of Hermione’s wand dug into it. Slipping from her fingers, Marietta’s wand clattered to the floor.

The two security Aurors stopped and seemed unsure what to do. Slowly lowering her wand now that the other witch was unarmed, Hermione kept it in sight of the wizards as she calmly said, “She tried to jinx me in the back after a verbal altercation. I cast a _Protego_ and it rebounded over there.” She indicated the cracked pot with a flick of her head. Harry pushed his way through the gathering crowd. “I don’t think she was trying to seriously hurt me, just embarrass me. You’ll have to check her wand for the spell. You are welcome to check mine, too.”

She held it out and Harry stepped forward to take it, then picked up Marietta’s from the floor. He was all business and Hermione felt pride swell up in her chest. No matter what anyone else thought about hero status granting anyone favors, she knew that not only did she deserve her current position, so did Harry.

“Can I also have the two witches who were in queue in front of and behind Ms Granger and Ms Edgecombe accompany us to give a statement?”

Two witches stepped forward. People began to disperse, realizing that the rest of this would take place in private.

The two other Aurors led the small group towards small antechamber. 

“I still need to pee,” one of the unknown women whispered.

Hermione replied quietly, “Me too. Maybe we can convince them to let us find a private toilet before we begin?”

When the questioning finally ended, Marietta was being charged with minor assault.

Harry pulled Hermione aside letting everyone leave before them; he looked exhausted. “Can we just go back to mine? I don’t want to go out there and have to put on a façade for another hour, waiting for midnight, pretending everything is fine.”

Mutely, Hermione nodded. She was bone-tired, too.

“We’ll have to toast the New Year with Firewhisky, I haven’t got any champagne.” He smiled weakly, attempting to lighten to mood as they slid through a side door, trying to avoid attention while making their way back to the atrium.

Her effort at a laugh sounded hollow. “I think it’ll do.”

“And we never saw Perkins.” He looked forlornly back towards where the party was still going strong.

“I’m sure we can find someone on the 2nd to tell us all about his robes.”


	4. Chapter 4

At half-past eleven, they sat on Harry’s sofa, a fire roaring before them and glasses of Firewhisky cradled in their hands. The wireless was on, quietly playing classical music. His Christmas tree was still up, its twinkling lights offering the only illumination besides the fire.

Hermione had popped over to her house to change out of her dress. She had washed off her make-up and taken down her hair. When she reappeared at Harry’s in leggings and a hoodie, he had also changed, into a pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt. 

They had both collapsed into their seats with matching sighs, then hadn’t spoken at all. Unlike earlier in the night, this silence was comfortable. Hermione stared into the crackling flames, lost in thoughts of what could have happened with Marietta if she hadn’t caught the sounds that gave her away. She could only imagine similar thoughts were going through Harry’s mind. It seemed important to tell him her feelings.

“Harry, I—”

“Hermione—”

Both stopped talking and stared at each other, waiting for the other. She giggled. He rolled his eyes at her. 

“You first,” he told her.

“No, you,” she insisted.

“Okay.” He turned in his seat, focusing on her, a mixture of emotions on his face that she would catalogue as nervously hopeful. She turned to face him, in order to give him her full attention. “I wanted to confess something. I had an ulterior motive to asking you to come to the ball with me tonight. Well, two motives, really. First, I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for a while now, but I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. This seemed like a logical choice to ease into the idea of dating. For real. I don’t know if you feel the same way at all, but for a moment tonight, I imagined you did.”

She stared at him, at a loss for words. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. When she didn’t respond, he rattled on.

“But all night people kept saying these things, and you looked so upset about the idea of it being a real date. So, I backed off and decided we would just have fun. I was finally starting to relax when Marietta ruined everything. Sitting here, I decided you deserve to know my feelings. Even if yours aren’t the same.”

Hermione swallowed loudly, then scooted closer to him, grabbing his hand that was tapping nervously on his knee. Gently, she wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed. Her throat was suddenly dry, and she couldn’t seem to calm her heart rate, but she was one-hundred percent clear on what she needed to do.

Her eyes darted down to Harry’s lips and she licked hers in anticipation. He mirrored her actions, and she noticed how his Adam’s apple bobbed. Leaning in slowly, she cupped his cheek, scratching her nails through his beard. A small moan escaped his lips and his eyes began to shut as she closed the final gap between them.

His lips were soft and moved gently against hers in response to her tentative kiss. He tasted of Firewhisky, but she was sure she did, too. His free hand reached up and he tangled a firstful of her curls within it, in order to pull her even closer. His tongue darted out to run along the seam of her mouth; with a sigh of satisfaction she opened it for him. A jolt of electricity ran through her when the tip of her tongue met his. More than anything she wanted to keep on going, but reluctantly, she pulled back.

“If you haven’t guessed it, I feel the same,” she told him, trying to quell the ache in her core that was only intensified at finding his pupils blown wide. “I didn’t want to go as just friends either, but I wanted to respect your boundaries. I thought I was doing the right thing to keep insisting it was platonic.”

“Thank God.”

Harry grabbed the half-full glass still clutched in her hand, which miraculously hadn’t sloshed out while they kissed. Leaning to the side, he placed both tumblers on an end table. He also took off his glasses and laid them there, too. The green in his eyes appeared more intense than she could remember seeing it before.

“So, if I asked you out on a real date, you’d say yes?”

“Yes.”

“And it won’t bother you when the press and various busy-bodies won’t leave us alone?”

“It probably will, but it isn’t like I don’t already deal with that.”

“What if I asked you to spend the night tonight?”

“I could probably be convinced.”

Groaning, he slid a hand behind her neck and went to capture her lips again. She placed a hand on his chest, pushing back against him, resisting because she needed to ask him a question of her own first.

“You mentioned two motives for asking me to the ball. What was the other?”

Harry looked to his wrist, then back up to her with a smirk. “I wanted to kiss you at midnight. Which appears not to be a problem.”

She looked down to his watch and saw it was quarter-til the new year. Cheekily, she told him, “I hope we’re a bit further along than just kissing by midnight.”


End file.
